The Emerald Moon
by ShelbyElizabeth
Summary: The Emerald Moon of Delta Colony Seven was hardly what one would call a paradise, but the Doctor and Amy arrive to find that there is something odd about a lounge singer named Ella. Something that doesn't make sense? Let's go poke it with a stick.


The Emerald Moon

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I associated with Doctor Who in any way, shape or form beyond being a fan.

Chapter One

The Emerald Moon of Delta Colony Seven was hardly what one would call a paradise, unless one was a connoisseur of cheap wine disguised in fancy bottles, sleazy cocktail waitresses and slot machines that chimed happily often enough to keep the patrons glued to their seats, investing coin after coin in hopes of being the next lucky jackpot winner. Even the name _The Emerald Moon_ was deceptive; there wasn't a speck of green to be seen anywhere on the celestial body. Hips swayed back and forth seductively as their owner's brought drinks to the customers seated at the small round tables and dimly lit booths that were contained in a small, smoky room set off to the side of the main floor. Hushed conversations petered off into silence as a spotlight lit a lone microphone held in its stand in front of a red curtain, adorning the semi-circle stage that jutted out from the wall.

Behind the curtain, Ella Newman heaved a sigh. "No, no. Not this crap again," a voice from behind her said gruffly.

Mac, the floor manager stood there, tapping his foot on the floor, arms folded in front of his pudgy belly and a stern look plastered to his unattractive features. "I didn't say anything!" Ella objected, though she knew what was to come anyway. Angering Mac was not high on her list of things to do. She may have hated her job but it was better than no job at all.

"Don't try to pull that on me. You start sighing and then you give a lousy performance. Know what happens when you give a lousy performance? Customers leave mad and then I don't get paid," Mac lectured. "You listen to me, sweetheart, and you listen good. I don't care how tired you are, I don't care what you think of the customers, I don't care about none of it! You go out there and give them a show to remember. Keeps 'em coming back."

Ella had heard this speech before. She could practically recite it in her sleep. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at him, she simply nodded in agreement. It was enough to placate the unsightly man for the time being, but the likelihood of there being a stern talking-to after the show was higher than she would like.

Mac stomped away from her to bark orders at the stagehands. Thirty seconds to curtain. Ella shivered in the frigid air of the room, partially from the cold but also from nerves. Performing eight shows a week for two whole years had done nothing for her confidence, as she was informed on many occasions that the only reason she was still around was because Mac was too busy to hold auditions.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, willing herself to imagine that she wasn't stepping out in front of a crowd, but rather her bedroom mirror. Even the thought of the safe environment couldn't still her self-consciousness. Her dark hair was cropped short, so there was nothing for her to hide her eyes behind. Her silky outfits always made her feel like she was playing dress-up in her mother's closet and it was a miracle if she didn't stumble in the heels she wore. Baby steps were the only way to go.

The curtain rose, the fabric rustling slightly as it was hoisted up to the rafters, leaving Ella without the safety barrier between her and the audience. A few of the more impatient customers cleared their throats and shifted in their seats as she edged toward the microphone. Her hand had barely touched the stand when the music started up. The notes started soft but swelled in a crescendo while Ella's eyes swept the crowd looking for anyone in the audience who looked nice, so she could focus on them rather than the drunken businessmen who leered up at her. She caught sight of an unfriendly glare from the back of the room, where Mac was standing with his arms still crossed- a rather subtle reminder for her to smile, no matter how uncomfortable she was.

She then settled on what could only be called a mop of hair. It was tidy, but in the most unruly of ways– most of it flopped over to one side, though many pieces stuck out defiantly in their own directions, as though they were used to having a hand swept through them several times an hour. Beneath the mess of brown hair were astonishingly kind eyes –old eyes, impossibly wizened with age and experience– causing Ella to freeze for a moment. She'd found her anchor for the performance, that much was certain.

Without realizing she'd begun, Ella heard her throaty alto flow out of her and into the microphone. The song, some old Earth jazz number, wasn't really her cup of tea, but she tried her best to do it justice. Amplification wasn't really necessary in the cramped room, but Mac insisted- said it "heightened the experience", whatever that meant.

Chancing glances around the room occasionally, she was almost instantly drawn back to the old eyes, as if hypnotized by them. There was something there that kept her coming back for more. She didn't ever want to leave those eyes.

Ella took in more air to continue singing, but dizziness swam in with the oxygen. She stumbled forward, prompting laughs from some of the audience, but not from her old eyes, which twinged with sadness and pity rather than glee at her fumble. It was as if they could see how trapped she was, as if they wanted to set her free.

Her next breath brought only more dizziness as the room tilted and twisted around her. More of the audience laughed, thinking her to be intoxicated, and Mac was fuming. Ella tried to steady herself but her next desperate gasp for air brought nothing at all. She coughed and tried again, swaying back and forth on the spot.

"She's ill!" someone in the audience cried.

"Someone call a doctor!" another patron shouted.

Mac was stomping toward her, a look of mild worry on his face, though it did not reach his eyes. Someone else got to her first, arms catching her as she fell. Voices swirled around her, growing more and more distant until they were completely gone and her vision faded to black.

"How can she have been choking?" Mac's irate voice jolted Ella's consciousness. "I'm telling you, this is just one of her tricks to try to get out of doing her job!"

"And I'm telling you, this woman was choking!" an unfamiliar voice retorted.

Mac thumped off, grumbling about stupid doctors and having to issue refunds to everyone who came to the show.

"Was she really choking?" a woman's voice asked when Mac's thunderous footsteps had vanished.

"Choking, yes, she was most definitely choking. But how? We saw her. She wasn't drinking anything, she wasn't eating anything, nobody shoved anything down her throat, and I'm pretty sure we would have seen if someone had tried. Unless they were invisible. But I don't think anyone was invisible. Invisibility won't be a viable opportunity until the year 9.3/Kumquat/47, so no, it wasn't invisibility."

Ella blinked her eyes open at the harsh lights that were shining down on her. She was scared, more scared than she'd ever been in her life. The man's voice talking a mile a minute was doing nothing to calm her; it was merely making her head throb more.

"Doctor," the woman's voice said; she'd noticed that Ella was awake.

A face popped up right in front of Ella, making her jerk her head back, smacking it against the floor.

"Careful there," the man said again, cradling her head in his hand. "Are you alright, Ella? It is Ella, right? That's what Mr. Grumpy called you. Mind you, he didn't seem like a particularly sharp fellow so I don't know exactly how much I should pay attention to him."

"Doctor," the woman warned.

The man looked apologetic and it was then for the first time that Ella noticed his eyes- kind, brown, and impossibly wise. "Right, sorry. I'm the Doctor and this is Amy."

He helped her into a seated position. Ella was tuning out as he continued talking, entranced by his eyes. He was without a doubt the man she'd been focused on earlier, before…

A sudden sob wracked her body. The man looked alarmed but the woman- Amy, Ella corrected herself- stepped forward to calm her.

"I don't know what happened. One minute I was fine and then… and then I couldn't breathe. It was like someone… someone sucked all the… air out of the room," Ella's eyes snapped shut as she cried and Amy touched her arm sympathetically.

"Doctor, do something," she whispered to him over her shoulder as she tried to comfort Ella.

"I'm working on it," he replied, letting Amy take over completely while he tried to figure out what had happened.

He paced back and forth in a few short strides, muttering madly, as though he was having three or four arguments with himself at the same time. He stopped suddenly and turned around to look at Ella again.

"Ella, are you frightened?" he asked gently.

She nodded and wiped away her tears while her sobs subsided.

"Best stick with us then," he concluded, helping her to her feet.

Ella nodded again. She trusted this man completely, she realized, though she did not know why. Reason should say not to believe everything a stranger says, but something about him made her feel comfortable and safe, and those eyes…

Amy stayed close to Ella's side, just in case she collapsed again, and the two women walked with the Doctor away from the stage and through the maze of halls in the casino, finally ending in front of a strange blue box that sat inside a supply closet on the second floor. "Here we are!" The Doctor snapped his fingers and the doors opened. "Ladies first," he stepped aside, waving them into the box.

"Come on. You're not going to believe this," Amy said, taking Ella by the hand and escorting her in.

Ella supposed she'd been expecting a cramped, dark space, but it was not at all what she was met with. Her jaw dropped open at what she saw. "Neat right?" Amy smiled and dropped Ella's hand, stepping further in and plopping herself down on a spinny chair that sat beside a gigantic console of some kind.

Lights blinked here and there, levers stuck out in every direction, beeping softly at the occupants of the box.

"This is the TARDIS," the Doctor said. "T-A-R-D-I-S. Stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

Ella gawped at him. "It's a time machine?"

"It's a time machine," he confirmed.

Ella staggered back a step, not sure that this was all really happening. "It's a time machine?" she asked again in disbelief.

"It's a time machine. Didn't I just say that?" his question was directed at Amy, who nodded at him. "Tell you what, why don't you go lay down in one of the spare rooms while me and Amy try to sort out what exactly happened to you earlier?"

A nice lie down sounded like a good idea to Ella. "Up those stairs, second door on the right," he directed her.

She walked off, gawking at everything that she passed, giving Amy a smile as she went off to the spare room.

"So what's really wrong with her?" Amy asked once Ella had gone.

The Doctor looked grave. "I don't know; something's influencing her. Something not human. It tried to kill her earlier. We need to keep an eye on her until we find out what it is," he said.

"Are we taking her with us then?" Amy wasn't entirely sure what to make of their new ward.

"No," the Doctor shook his head. "We're not going anywhere. Not until we get this sorted out."

The Doctor and Amy looked at each other, then up the stairs that Ella had just ascended. The girl was in trouble, and trouble was just their style.

That's the end of Chapter 1. I hope you enjoyed it. Whether you did or didn't, please take the time to leave a review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. This is my first Doctor Who story so we'll all find out together how well I do.

Thanks!

Shelby


End file.
